


Ghosts Begone

by Singing_Violin



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 12:54:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5248955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Singing_Violin/pseuds/Singing_Violin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scene from Ghost in the Machine. What exactly happened after they destroyed the machine?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghosts Begone

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The X-Files characters and universe are not mine.
> 
> Author's Note: This has been revised because I got some details wrong (late night writing) and a helpful anonymous reviewer on ffnet alerted me to the fact. I wish I knew who it was so I could ask them to beta for me in the future; better to catch these things before I post!

"Aren't you going to cuff him?" Scully asked, nodding over at the "glorified building super" whom she'd just rescued her partner from, keeping her gun trained vaguely in his direction and finger on the trigger.

Mulder looked helplessly back and forth between the two other people in the room. "I don't think so, Scully. He's DOD."

She rolled her eyes. "He was pointing a gun at you when I came in! And besides, he's a logical suspect. He could have been controlling the machine."

Mulder sighed. "You told me to put in the tape.  Why, if you don't believe the machine was responsible for the deaths?"

"Because that fixes the problem either way," she explained, lowering her gun slightly. "The machine can't be used anymore if it's destroyed. In any case, he threatened you directly."

"We are not supposed to be here," Mulder pointed out. "It's not even our case. And I think I just destroyed someone else's property, which it was his job to protect. Trust me on this one; if he lets us walk out the door, that's what we should do." With that, he looked over at Peterson, who nodded unhappily. "Besides, he knows where to find us, and we know where to find him. Let's go, Scully."

Hesitantly, she nodded and holstered her gun. "All right." Mulder glared back at Peterson as he gathered the pieces of his own firearm and then ushered Scully towards the hallway. As soon as they exited the room, she faltered slightly, and he grabbed her arm to steady her.

"Whoa, Scully. Are you okay?" he asked worriedly.

"I'm fine," she replied, her voice wavering just a bit.

He turned towards her and, with one hand still gripping her arm, raised the other to her face and lightly touched a finger to the abrasion above her right eyebrow. She couldn't help flinching, and he quickly dropped his hand, then moved both hands to lightly grip her shoulders. "How the hell did you get cut up so badly?" he asked directly.

"I don't want to talk about it," she told him, looking down at her feet. "I'm fine. It's just a few little scrapes."

"Still, I think I should maybe take you to the hospital," he argued. "Make sure that's really true. You almost collapsed just now."

She looked back up at him, defiance in her eyes. "It's three in the morning, I've hardly slept, and I just climbed up twenty-nine flights of stairs before crawling around in an air duct. Of course I'm tired. But I just tripped. I'm fine, and I just want to go home, if that's all right with you."

He frowned. "Fine, but I'll drive your car—mine's totaled anyway—and then I'm walking you in. No arguments. I can take a cab home once I know you're safe, then get a rental in the morning."

She looked askance at him, considering her options before finally conceding, perhaps because she just didn't have the energy to pick a fight at the moment. Besides, if she were perfectly honest with herself, she probably wouldn't let him out of her sight too easily if it had been he who had been injured. "All right."

"Good," he agreed. "Now, the elevator?"

Fear flickered in her eyes. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "Especially with Peterson still here. If he is in control, he could still...."

Mulder interrupted her exasperatedly. "I'm not sure you'll make it down twenty-nine flights of stairs right now, Scully, and I don't think I want to either. The machine is dead. The virus killed it. And Peterson is not a murderer even if he did have the ability to control the building, which he doesn't. He was surprised I was able to access the controls."

Still, Scully looked uncertain. "I'll make it down the stairs," she told him. "Gravity will help."

Alarm flickered across Mulder's face. "That does not sound like a good idea."

Realizing what her partner was thinking, Scully managed a small smile. "I meant that it's not as much work...never mind. Please, Mulder, let's just take the stairs. At least I know we'll make it home, even if we're tired."

He nodded. "Okay."

He elicited another small smile from her when he announced as they passed the second floor, "Twenty-eight down, one to go."

When they got to her car, he held his hand out for her keys, and again she hesitated, but seemed to decide quickly not to fight him as she reached into her pocket and handed him the silently-requested item. He gave her a wan smile as he opened the passenger side door for her, then closed it after attempting not to look too worried as she stumbled in. He knew where she lived, of course—he could never forget kicking in her door to find her being attacked by Eugene Victor Tooms—but since he'd only been there that once, he expected her to offer directions, and when she didn't, he swallowed his growing concern.

After parking in front of her building, he moved swiftly, exiting the vehicle and racing around to the other side of the car before she was completely out. He closed the door for her again, then offered her his arm. She eyed him with surprise, but did not take the offering. He dropped his arm and moved his hand to her lower back as she walked into the building.

Once inside, he bade her sit so he could take a look at her injuries. She protested, even as she sank into the nearest armchair under the slight force from his hand on her shoulder. "Mulder, have you forgotten that I'm a doctor? I can perform first aid on myself."

He shrugged. "But you're tired. You said so yourself, and that was before we climbed down twenty-nine flights of stairs and drove here. Besides, you might have scrapes in places you can't see or reach. Let me help."

He didn't wait for a reply as he patted her knee and then disappeared into her bathroom, which he'd located on sight first thing when he'd entered with her. He found a washcloth and dampened it under the faucet, then returned to see her looking particularly exhausted, and wondered briefly what he would do if she fell asleep right there in the chair. Unbidden, his mind conjured the idea of gently picking her up and carrying her to bed, her slight weight sagging between his arms as her head lolled against his shoulder. He quickly shook the image away as he approached her.

He knelt in front of her and began cleaning the wounds on her face. She flinched again and sharply sucked in air.

"Sorry," he told her. "This will probably hurt a bit."

She chuckled slightly. "That's usually my line. At least, when I actually get to treat live patients."

He smiled back at her. "They say doctors make the worst patients."

"No comment," she responded cheekily. Then she flinched again and added, "I should complain about your practicing medicine without a license."

Before he could bite his tongue, he retorted, "Perhaps I should complain about your practicing psychology without a license. Didn't you tell me earlier what I was feeling, going through, and then recommend I talk to someone about it?"

She visibly deflated, and her cheeks reddened, blending into her wounds. "I'm sorry, Mulder. I shouldn't have meddled. I was just worried."

At this point, the washcloth was covered with enough blood and dirt that he needed to rinse it before continuing. He stood up. "I'll be right back."

Returning with the rinsed cloth and a bottle of antiseptic he found in her cabinet, he went back to work, and as he was ministering to the angry marks on her otherwise-flawless skin, he quietly noticed her tension, including her clenched fists.

He put down the cloth on the coffee table beside the chair and took those fists in his hands, gently rubbing his thumbs over them, attempting not to irritate the recently-cleaned cuts around her knuckles. "What's wrong, Scully?"

She stared at him. "Nothing. Why?"

"You're upset," he told her. "And I know; I may not have medical training, but I've got a degree in psychology. Something's eating you, besides worrying about me...I hope I've eased that, by the way."

"Just a rough night I guess," she tried. "Are you done...treating me, 'Doctor'? Can I go to bed now?"

He frowned. "Is it about Jerry? You hardly knew him."

She sighed. "He was your partner, and I can't even figure out if you liked him," she blurted out, exhaustion and lack of sleep lowering her inhibitions. "The way he stole your profile...and then when he...I couldn't be completely sorry about it. And I can't imagine what you're feeling, the hints I got at your history with him."

He smiled sadly at her. "I've learned to pick my battles, and let bygones be bygones. He had a tough life. And I guess, in a way, I feel responsible for that. You're right that I was his partner, and I should have taken better care of him. Maybe then he wouldn't have gotten into trouble, and more importantly, wouldn't have ended up a pancake on the floor of an elevator."

She squinted up at him curiously. "If you hadn't allowed him to go alone, you'd be a pancake too. Is that why you're so insistent upon taking care of me?" she asked. "To make up for not taking care of him?"

Now he grinned. "Insightful conjecture, Dr. Scully, and you might be partly right."

"Only partly?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

He coughed, realizing that this conversation was probably headed in a direction neither of them was ready to explore. "I think I'm done here," he told her , dropping her hands and rising to his feet. "At least what I can see. Can I get you anything?"

She chuckled. "No. You're in my home, Mulder. I should be asking you that. Thank you, by the way."

"It's no problem," he told her. "You'd do the same for me, and you'd probably be better at it, considering you're an actual doctor. And besides, I like having the peace of mind of knowing that my partner's okay. Though I'm still not convinced."

She studied him for a moment. "What is it you want to know?"

"Well, for starters, if there are any injuries I can't see." When she opened her mouth to object to his anticipated request, he held up his hand. "Don't worry, I won't ask you to undress in front of me." _Again,_ he thought, remembering a hotel room in Oregon not too long ago, on their very first case together. At the memory, his heart fluttered in his chest and other parts of his anatomy threatened unwelcome reactions. "Just...if you find anything yourself, I'd like to be available to help take care of it. Which is to say, I'm staying, if you're willing."

"I don't have anywhere for you to sleep," she told him.

"You have a couch," he observed, eyeing it. "And actually, I sleep on a couch at home."

"You don't have a bed?" she asked incredulously.

"Well, I do, but...it's a long story. I usually sleep on the couch. And I wouldn't mind sleeping on yours, especially as there's only a few hours left tonight anyway and I really do want to make sure you're okay."

"Fine," she agreed, then got up as he stepped aside to allow her through. "But only for tonight...or what's left of it. You should probably call AAA at least—use my phone—and I'll give you a ride to the car rental in the morning so you can skip the cab. I'm going to get ready for bed."

He nodded as she disappeared into the bathroom, then grabbed her phone and made some calls to deal with his car as she washed up. He finished his business before she did, and as he settled on her couch, his ears vaguely registering the sounds of her activities, his mind wandered to the ex-partner he'd just lost. He'd referred to Jerry as his "friend" but not until after his death. Jerry really hadn't been much of a friend; Mulder hadn't even heard from him in years, not until this case. Actually, come to think of it, he didn't have many friends at all. He didn't even know Agent Scully well enough to call her a friend, though he hoped that would change soon.

He was startled out of his reverie when Scully returned to sit beside him on the couch, then put her own hand on his thigh. "You know, Mulder, you don't have to protect me. I'm not Jerry. I can take care of myself. And even if I couldn't, I'd never do what he did, going behind your back, stealing your work. Even if you are 'dazzling on the high wire' as he so eloquently put it."

"I know that," he reassured her. "Besides, you rescued me today, not to mention saved anyone who might have been killed by the machine had we not destroyed it."

She bit her lip, trying not to point out that she still didn't completely believe that the machine had no human help. It was way too late to get into that discussion now.

He continued, "If I am on the high wire, I expect you'll be the one to make sure the net's in place when I fall. That is, if you're not too busy with the trapeze act."

She smiled. "I'll certainly try."

He cleared his throat, realizing he'd forgotten his original reason for staying. "Did you find any other injuries while you were washing up?" he asked.

"No," she told him, "I'm really fine. I might be a little sore in the morning, but I'll live."

He looked slightly disappointed and uneasy, as if she were about to ask him to leave, given that she no longer needed any help, but she surprised him instead. "I brought you a blanket."

With that, she tossed the comforter he hadn't noticed she'd been holding onto his lap, then quickly rose and disappeared into her bedroom, a sly smile playing upon her lips.

He grinned as he tucked the blanket around himself and settled down to sleep.


End file.
